


Happily ever after and other fairytales

by sweetkidlousycook



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetkidlousycook/pseuds/sweetkidlousycook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "Alistair, having found himself in Skyhold at the same time as Morrigan and Kieran, awkwardly insists on being part of his son's life. Morrigan relents on the condition he not reveal his relationship to Kieran. Kieran's smart and knows exactly who Alistair is, but says nothing so as to not upset his mother. As Alistair and Morrigan spend more time together, they slowly realize they've fallen in love."</p><p>Also starring pretty much everyone in Skyhold being various degrees of helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happily ever after and other fairytales

Morrigan blew out the last sputtering candle from her position on top of Alistair and they were plunged into darkness.

He moved his hand to her hip and suddenly realised she was trembling. He couldn't blame her. This wasn't a game of Tempted Templar and Naughty Apostate, it wasn't even a passionate clinch, it was two young virgins awkwardly groping in the dark. Morrigan talked the talk plenty enough, an expert flirt when it came to eyelash batting and pouting those pretty lips of hers, but it was becoming clear she hadn't done the deed any more than he had.

His eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dark and he could see her face above his more clearly. Her eyes were closed, her usually full lips pressed into a line. She looked… scared. Huh. He'd always found it hard to imagine the sneaky witch scared and thought it would bring him at least a little joy, but it didn't at all. He moved his hands up her body but didn't linger anywhere until he reached her face.

"It's alright," he whispered. They needed to stay calm. They were doing this to save their friend as much as to save their own skins from archdemons and Flemeth's wrath, after all. There was no room for guilt, even if he could too easily imagine the lecture he would've got from the grand cleric about apostate-induced hard-ons. _Maker, she's pretty though._ It wasn't as if he'd never noticed before, but her being on top of him had a way of bringing her feral beauty into focus.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and cautiously began to sit up, bringing their faces level, as she opened her golden eyes and glared at him.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, less composed than usual and trying to push him back down onto the bed and under her so she could maintain complete control of the situation.

"Getting comfortable," he muttered. "If that's okay with you."

She said nothing and crossed her arms against her chest, still perched on his crotch but mercifully breaking eye contact.

"I'd really like to kiss you," he ventured. In his many and varied fantasies of his first time there had always been kissing involved, even in the fantasies involving Morrigan.

"I suppose that is allowed," she said hesitantly, "if 'twill stop you from fidgeting so."

He pressed his lips to hers and to his surprise she responded warmly. Her lips parted slightly and he trailed his fingers over her cheeks, her ears, the curve of her neck. She grabbed his hand and for a moment he was scared she'd rip it off but instead she guided him to her breasts. He bit her lip slightly, a nip, not even enough to graze. She tasted better than a swamp witch had any right to.

"Tell me what you want." He touched her face again gently.

"Your seed in me," she said blankly with a twitch of her hips. He gasped but maintained his focus. All that templar meditation had been good for something after all.

"Well, apart from that." He tried to smile but she wouldn't meet his gaze at all now. "Where else do you want me to touch you?"

"What will that accomplish?"

"Other than, hopefully, making you feel good? Nothing really, I just thought it might be polite." He made no attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"This is not a love affair, Alistair."

"Oh, it's not? Sorry, I thought all romances were this awkward, I suppose I was mistaken, silly me."

She sighed and placed a delicate hand on the back of his neck. "Fine. I suppose there is no harm in it." Her voice caught a little, and between that and the flush of pink across her cheeks Alistair could almost believe she was embarrassed to talk about her wants.

"You can show me if that's easier." He said it as kindly as he could and she finally met his eyes again in mute thanks.

***

When it was over he crept out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster, leaving her lying sprawled on the bed in all her glory. Her normally alabaster cheeks were pink, her hair had come loose from its leather tie at some point, and there was even a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth, which was frankly terrifying. She looked satisfied, at least, if not actually happy.

For a moment before he shut the door he had the sudden urge to go back, sit with her and stroke her hair and twirl it around his fingers. Maybe even ask for a lock of it to remember her by, to think of the child he'd never see. He knew she'd say no anyway. A lock of hair was almost as good a way to track an apostate as a vial of blood, and even if it wasn't she would never agree to something so sentimental.

He ought to hate her, but for the first time since they met he didn't hate her at all.

***

Ten years later Alistair Theirin, descendant of kings and hero of the Fifth Blight, woke up in a cave in a particularly soggy corner of Fereldan after an unpleasant Calling-induced nightmare to find a crow staring at him.

"Shoo! How did you even get in here?"

The crow ignored him, which was probably a metaphor of some kind. He sighed and struggled out of his sleeping bag. Ever since the Inquisition had contacted him he'd been feeling even more on edge and now he was being spied on by corvids. He reached for his backpack, grabbed the the stale crust of an old loaf of bread which was all that remained of his rations, and threw it at the intruder. It squawked irately and flew off into the blinding light of the cave mouth.

He was going to have to head into the nearest village soon to get more food, a risky proposition considering there hadn't been this many people out for his blood since the Landsmeet. Hawke hadn't contacted him in a while either, which could mean trouble. Still, he wasn't going to end his somewhat varied career by starving to death in a cave because he was too much of a coward to go outside. That would just be embarrassing. Plus the Inquisition had agents in almost every village now so he could make contact to check up on Hawke and put his mind a little more at ease.

The journey to the village was long and muddy, which was comfortingly familiar. The people there were poor but not in poverty and were friendly enough so he was looking forward to a day out. By the time he reached the village it was an hour or two until noon and the small daily market was in full swing. For the most part it consisted of local farmers' children selling vegetables and eggs but there were one or two craftsmen scattered about. The smells of hops and fresh-baked bread and meat pies made his mouth water.

Suddenly he heard a sharp cry. He span around, ready to draw his sword, but it was only a hungry baby, swaddled in the arms of his young mother. As much as he tried not to they made him think of Morrigan and the child he'd never seen.

Before the Calling and all its related craziness had hit the Wardens and put more immediate things on his mind he'd lost too much sleep thinking about them, even though he chided himself and swore over and over he'd put it all out of his mind. He wasted whole nights imagining both the worst and best scenarios he could come up with, from a literal tiny archdemon that was all scales and teeth to some fantasy family life for the three of them, which was much less realistic than the miniature archdemon. Most nights he'd simply wondered where they were. Did he have a daughter with golden eyes making do with a hut in a marsh? A son as pale as the moon hiding away in some ruined fortress? He'd heard a little while ago that a mysterious apostate who fit Morrigan's description had made her way into the Orlesian court, but there had been no mention of a child at all.

He wandered into the run-down tavern next to the small chantry, nerves jangling like jailor's keys. A half-decent cooked meal would settle his spirits. As he ate (the sort of plain Fereldan fare you got at the foot of the Frostbacks, which was all he ever wanted anyway) he noticed a young dwarven woman at the bar nursing a pint of ale but not actually drinking it. Her hood was partially obscuring her face, but he'd recognise the agents of the Inquisition anywhere.

"Scout Harding?"

She winced. "Damn, thought I was being subtle."

"Don't worry, I won't tell Leliana if you won't." He went to sit next to her at the grimy bar, bringing his plate with him. No point abandoning his food just because the Inquisition were here waiting for him. His stool scraped loudly on the flagstone floor.

"Much appreciated. I'm actually flattered you remembered me." She finally took a sip of her ale. "I wish I could say this was a social call, but Sister Nightingale wants you at Skyhold as soon as possible. Don't worry, it's not an emergency," she added quickly. "She wants your input while we ready ourselves for Adamant, and she thinks you'll be safer there for the time-being since the Venatori stepped up their attacks."

He rolled his eyes. "She's such a worrier. I'm a big boy now, I can look after myself."

Harding laughed. "I bet you are. Wait, I mean I bet you can." She grinned at him, clearly embarrassed. "That came out a lot dirtier than I meant it to."

"As the actor said to the Grand Cleric."

"What can I say, you're easily the third most handsome guy I've met in the last week. I get flustered. At least I'm pretty when I blush."

***

Alistair had to hand it to the Inquisition; Skyhold was beautiful and he couldn't think of a better location for them. The chill in the air seemed to dissipate the moment you entered its walls into the bustling throng of castle life winding down for the evening, which he could have easily mistaken for just another day in Redcliffe or any other Arling fortress if it weren't for all the banners. Harding handed him over to some nondescript guards once they reached the tavern. "My day off starts here and now," she explained with a wink. "Have fun with Sister Nightingale."

The guards led him along busy corridors until they reached the war room. One of them knocked on the door gingerly.

"Come in!" called a voice he hadn't heard in years.

he three advisors were crowded around the table, arguing rather politely. Leliana looked drawn and grave, very different from the rosy-cheeked optimist with the glint in her eye that he remembered. Lady Montilyet and his fellow escapee from the Templar Order didn't look much happier.

Josephine smiled at him, genuinely warm and friendly even by the standards of the best diplomats. "Ah, Ser Alistair! It is a delight to meet you, we've all heard so much about you, from Leliana, from Hawke, from all of the bards... you are quite the local hero in Fereldan, it seems. First, I must apologise. The Inquisitor is absent, alas, due to - what was it?"

"Bees," said Cullen with the sigh of a man who has seen too much.

"Ah yes. Bees." Josephine narrowed her eyes. "We should never have approved that mission."

"Of course this means further planning for our assault on Adamant will have to wait. As if we have nothing better to worry about... Have you seen anything suspicious in your travels?" asked Leliana.

"I've been lucky so far. Although there was a crow watching me when I woke up this morning."

Josephine suddenly went tense as a tightrope. "Wait, a crow as in an assassin?"

He smiled at her as reassuringly as possible. "No, don't worry, a crow as in a bird crow. I threw some bread at it."

"Better to throw bread at a bird than an assassin, at least," said Leliana in exactly the same tone of voice any normal Sister would use to say a well-known proverb or saying of a Divine.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't know, Zevran always seemed susceptible to a good day-old cob."

Leliana laughed, not without humour but much less freely than she had back in the old days. Still, it was better than nothing. "Well, for once it was not one of my scout's birds. I have only been monitoring the villages, I didn't want to accidentally draw the attention of the Wardens or the Venatori towards your hiding places."

"That was very thoughtful of you, I appreciate it."

"Also you should probably know that we have acquired a new ally since we last spoke." Leliana's mouth twisted as if she were tasting something bitter. "Morrigan is here. By order of Empress Celene no less, so you are not permitted to chase her out."

"Wait, what? So that mysterious advisor really was her?"

"Of course it was. She always did have a talent for seeking out greatness and clinging on."

"Such bitterness does not suit you," said Josephine amiably. "The Lady Morrigan is a great asset to the Inquisition and her arcane knowledge is invaluable, as you well know."

Leliana smiled. "You're right, Josie, as ever. Now let us get back to business. Alistair, I have prepared a room for you just off the gardens. The guards can show you where it is. If you have any questions, I will be in the library…" And with that the three of them returned to arguing over the map.

Alistair decided to see if he could guess which room was his. He needed to entertain himself somehow. As he left the great hall and strolled towards the gardens he spotted a familiar figure lurking about in the shadows - Morrigan. It was as if she'd barely changed in the past decade even as everyone else changed around her. She was still lithe and pale like a slice of moonlight in the castle corridors. She still wore her meagre straps of leather and red cloth and adorned herself with stones and feathers, the very picture of what a Witch of the Wilds should be, more a wild creature than a lady of the Orlesian court. She even still tied her hair up the same way. The only thing that seemed different to him was her face. Where there had once been the constant scowl he'd grown to know and loathe there was now an expression he couldn't judge at all, half smile and half mourning. It was the sort of expression artists gave Andraste and the Divines, and the moment he thought that he wanted to tell her so. After all, if there was anything that bound them it was a common interest in blasphemy.

Oh, and the dark haired, hazel-eyed boy at her hip.

_Shit._

His mouth went as dry as the Hissing Wastes and the urge to argue with her as if she'd never run off was immediately replaced with the urge to turn tail and do the same, possibly as far as the Anderfels. He'd have an excuse, he'd promised to never see the child they made together that gods-forsaken night, yet here they all were and the boy didn't look like an eldritch horror at all.

_I have a son._

Why hadn't Leliana warned him? She must have put two and two together, yet she let him blunder through like a qunari in cobwebs. Perhaps she had more of a sadistic streak than he'd ever suspected. He followed Morrigan and the boy as they walked into the courtyard. The shadows cast by the statues were long and foreboding and the herbs and evening-blooming flowers in the garden gave it all an unusual scent, but perhaps that was all in his imagination. He hid behind a pillar to watch them, no longer caring if he got strange looks from passing elven mages or Chantry sisters. The sight of Morrigan sitting under a flowering bough and tenderly kissing this child on his forehead was baffling. He felt an ache in his chest, the way he did when he thought of the responsibility he'd shirked when he threw away the crown, the way he did when he thought of his own father abandoning him to live in the Redcliffe stables.

"Alistair, stop lurking about like some thief in the shadows. It does not suit you at all." He winced. Her voice was deep as ever but clear as a bell in the evening air and of course she was looking straight at him. He sighed and sheepishly walked towards them, trying not to convey any of his anxiety. The witch may seem sweeter but he had no doubt she could still smell fear. The boy - _my son_ , he thought again, _I have a son, I have a son_ \- wasn't hiding behind his mother's skirts as such but he did seem cautious.

 _Much less cautious than a stranger like you deserves_ , said a voice as negative as any demon at the back of his mind.

"Kieran, this is Alistair, a Grey Warden." Morrigan smiled, tight but genuine. Kieran smiled too, a crooked smile that Alistair had seen in the mirror once or twice. "Now go get ready for bed. He and I have much to discuss."

Kieran nodded, obviously disappointed but not complaining. Alistair watched him go then turned to the swamp witch who'd haunted him for all these years. He'd had a lot of accusatory conversations all ready to go but they seemed to have melted away in her presence. He'd always been a coward when it came to women.

"You're very good with him," he managed finally.

She laughed ruefully. "I could barely care for some silly baby bird who fell out of its nest, let alone a human child. But I have tried my best to raise him as he deserves."

"What does he know?"

"A vague question if ever there was one. A great deal, as it happens. How to read, how to write, the history of many - "

"You know what I mean."

"About his heritage? Little to nothing, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Does he know how to fight?"

She bristled like an angry cat. "He knows to call for me if there is trouble of any kind. I shall not leave him to fend for himself, not ever, I would rather die."

"I didn't mean... oh Maker I'm doing a bad job at this. I just thought maybe I could teach him a thing or two." The words came tumbling out of his mouth suddenly. "You know. Man to man. Wooden swords and shields of course. If that's alright with you…"

"You wish to spend time with him." It wasn't a question, and it certainly wasn't an answer either. The way she was staring at him had an edge of a forest creature getting ready to bolt.

"He's my son."

Saying the words aloud at last didn't dispel their power. If anything the ache was worse. But Morrigan seemed to take pity on him. "I make no promises. But I will think about it at least."

"That's all I'm asking for." He smiled to try and take the edge off. "You know, you haven't insulted me at all yet. That's not like you."

"So far you have done nothing that required insulting. If that changes then I will be the first to chastise you."

"Good to know."

***

He didn't know if it was because he was so exhausted from the day's travels or if it was because the beds in a Skyhold were a damn sight more comfortable than he was used to, but once he finally drifted off Alistair slept better than he had in months. He could barely remember any nightmares, no screaming arch-demons babbling in horribly comprehensible non-language at him, and he spent a long time once he rejoined the land of the living just lying in bed trying to stop any thoughts of the real world bothering him. The late morning sun trickled in through a small stained-glass window, the sheets were soft and the pillowswere stuffed with actual down feathers, and to top it all he wasn't in any immediate danger for once. He could get used to a life of luxury.

No-one seemed to have called for him so he could only assume the Inquisitor was still chasing bees and that he was free to haunt the tavern and see what Harding and the others were up to. By the time noon rolled around he'd lost an arm-wrestling competition with some of the mercenaries and accidentally insulted the biggest qunari he'd ever seen by implying the colour pink wasn't manly, but no-one had punched him yet so he had to assume he was doing well. He knew new names and new faces and some of them were even the same people.

He knew Morrigan better, though. Ten years ago she had always woken with the dawn and spent hours in silent, moody contemplation before she even took breakfast, and he doubted that had changed much. The whole morning had to be enough time to think over his proposal. He drained his weak ale, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. "I don't suppose you know where the the Empress's apostate takes her meals? The Lady Morrigan?" He tried to sound casual.

Krem shrugged. "Oh, _her_. No idea. Not my place to ask. It's not with the scouts or the soldiers, that's for certain. I don't know about anyone else but she gives me the screaming creeps. She walks like a Magister."

"Aye, and she looks at the men like they're on the menu. Not in a fun way, either," Dalish clarified quickly, "it's less sex-kitten and more she-wolf. Why?"

Skinner laughed, showing teeth. "I know why. I saw him sneaking around in gardens, giving her looks. Staring at the she-wolf like tom-cat!"

"It's not like that!"

"Yeah, just like it's not like that with Krem and that barmaid of his." Dalish was laughing wickedly. "That's why you both blush bright scarlet whenever we talk about them."

"You are a funny shem!" Skinner slapped him on the back. "Stupid but funny. I won't kill you."

"Ignore them," said Krem amiably. "She probably takes her meals in her quarters like Sister Nightingale does, now I think about it."

"Thanks. For the help and the arm-wrestling."

"Be careful she doesn't make you into shemlen-soup!" Dalish called after him and he smiled despite himself.

It didn't take much asking around to find out which quarters were Morrigan's - the largest of the guest quarters, set at the corner of the gardens. He managed to open the door without it creaking and alerting them. He'd clearly interrupted lunch. Morrigan and Kieran were sat at their table with bowls of hearty stew, chatting away.

"If you do not eat your vegetables, I will turn into a spider and chase you round the castle." He could hardly believe it - Morrigan was actually miming spider mandibles with her fingers. He'd never seen her so relaxed.

Kieran giggled. "That wouldn't be scary, that would be funny."

"He's right you know," Alistair interrupted. "I mean, I'd pay a gold piece just to see the look on Cullen's face. But - " he turned to Kieran " - that doesn't mean you don't have to eat your vegetables."

Morrigan tensed. "Ah, our Grey Warden friend returns. Will you eat with us? I would leave to talk with you but it seems Kieran cannot be trusted not to hide all his turnips under his plate if left unsupervised."

"I don't like turnips." He sounded sullen, almost like a normal child, but there was still something a little too mature about him, a permanent seriousness in his eyes and an air of serenity he'd only ever seen before in octogenarian Chantry mothers and Wynne on a good day. A literal Old Soul indeed.

"Of course, my Lady Morrigan." She glared at him for that, which was completely worth it, but poured him a plate full of stew from the black-iron pot anyway. He took a seat on the heavy wooden bench next to Kieran and opposite her and they got back to their meal.

"The Warden Alistair will be teaching you how to fight with a sword and shield soon, Kieran, won't that be entertaining?"

Kieran nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you, ser."

"I have already told the quarter master and he is searching for suitable training weapons. One day, perhaps, if you work very hard, you shall have a real sword of your own."

"They can make swords from star metal," he said excitedly. "Rocks that fall from heaven. I think I would like a star-sword."

Alistair laughed. "So would I. And a shield of dragonthorn. No darkspawn's getting past that."

He kept laughing and joking but his heart was beating faster. Here they were, the three of them, sitting together talking and eating as if they were a family. He felt as if he were dreaming, wanted to pinch himself hard to check. Any minute now he would wake up or the dream would slip into absurdity or the Call would start, he was sure. But it didn't. Somehow the world around him remained solid, Kieran and Morrigan were still there and nobody had flown out of a window or grown extra limbs. There was no grotesque dragon's head breathing curses of purple fire. They were safe. They were happy.

It couldn't last. When they had all finished eating Morrigan cleared up the plates with an unnatural smile on her face. "Kieran, would you please take these back to the kitchen for me?" He nodded and scampered off. Alistair wondered if he had any friends around Skyhold. He hoped so. It wasn't good for a child to be lonely.

Once the door had swung shut Morrigan turned to face him. She didn't meet his eyes. "Let me make one thing clear. I have agreed under one condition. He is _not_ to find out that you are his father."

His heart sank and it lit a spark of anger as it went down. "Why not? He's my son! I know you must know how much this hurts - "

She sighed. "What I know is that you are not truly as dense as you appear, so why must you act it? The trouble you and your entire order are in would only provide him with a source of anxiety, not security. As far as he is concerned I found him under a particularly large toadstool and that is that."

There was no logical response. She was right and he couldn't argue. He still wanted to, of course. Sense was no magical balm but it was enough to stay his tongue for now. She looked at him with sympathy and kindness that scared him, reached up to touch his face - 

The realisation suddenly hit him. "You! You were the crow!"

"I beg your pardon?" She drew away and crossed her arms as if she were curling up in on herself like a fern or flowerbud.

"The other day, I woke up and there was a crow watching me. Actually watching me. It was you."

"Crows are very wise creatures. Perhaps you mistook their natural inquisitiveness for a human quality."

"I know crows are smart, Morrigan, we all remember that bird in the Brecilian forest that stole my socks, but I know it was you so stop pretending."

She narrowed her eyes. "And? Can you truly criticise me for wishing to check the welfare of my allies' ally, my son's father?"

"Watching me while I sleep is creepy."

"I was not - UGH!" she was blushing crimson. "I thought perhaps age would have made you less of a fool but I was clearly mistaken. You are just as insufferable as ever."

"See, I was worried for a while there that maybe your mother HAD possessed you, but that's the Morrigan I remember. Forever needling like I'm a embroidery project."

"Believe me, if I were my mother you'd be far more needled. To the point of bleeding, as like as not."

He sighed. "You know, I've missed our little chats."

To his shock and surprise she burst out laughing, hand on her belly as if to stabilise herself. He stared at her wide-eyed, not really knowing what to do. Had she finally gone mad?

"Tis the strangest thing," she managed, laughter slowly subsiding. "But I have missed them too." That sad look returned to her as suddenly as the laughter had begun. Her moods always had been changeable as Fereldan weather. "Clearly I have lost my wits. I never missed companionship before I truly knew of it, and then I bartered it for the sake of my mother's schemes." She sighed and sat back down on the bench, wringing her pale hands. "Still, tis done and no magic I know of will undo it."

"You regret - " he paused.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. "Do not misunderstand me, Alistair. I do not regret Kieran, not for one moment, nor that a beautiful and ancient magic is preserved. Whatever purpose Flemeth has for it is irrelevant. But I do regret that he was born charged with a burden greater than any child should have to bear, that I lost a friendship, and that you insist on being bound to both of us."

"I wasn't the one spying," he pointed out. "If you don't want to be bound to me don't watch me while I'm sleeping."

"Fine," she snapped. "You have made your point. Since you think yourself too strong to be protected I will no longer watch over you. You have my word."

***

Over the next few days the sound of the Skyhold's troops' drills in the yard were joined by the clacking of wooden sword against training shield. Kieran learned the basics quickly. He was a methodical fighter, slow but steady and difficult to trick. He'd make a good warrior some day if he chose that path, although he'd have to work hard to put meat on the lanky frame he'd inherited from his mother. Still, Alistair had been a skinny lad too once upon a time, before the Templars got him, and he got the sense that Kieran could probably do anything he put his mind to.

It was early afternoon but overcast so training wasn't too strenuous. They had barely broken a sweat but Kieran was still holding back as if he had a lot on his mind. "Is it hard being half elf?" he asked.

Alistair shrugged. "Um, probably? I wouldn't know. Not met any half elves, not that I know about. They tend to keep quiet about it."

"Oh." Kieran looked extremely confused for a moment but quickly perked up. "Can I try to disarm you again?"

Alistair readied his shield. "Go on. Just so you know, when it comes to this stance I favour my left."

Kieran nodded solemnly and attacked again. For a few moments there was no talking, just the simple connection of combat, then - "Are you in love with my mother?"

Alistair was so surprised he nearly dropped his sword before Kieran even rapped him on the knuckles. "Wait, what?" Kieran took the opportunity to disarm him and his sword fell to the flagstones with a clatter.

Kieran shrugged. He put down his sword but kept his shield up as if protecting himself from words. "I wanted to know why you were around so often when you never were before. So I asked my friend Cole but he said a lot of things I didn't understand. Then I asked the angry girl who lives on the tavern roof, and she said you were probably in love or something." The last part was tinged with a heavy Denerim accent as if he were mimicking someone.

"Why were you in the tavern? Who even let you in?"

"Technically I wasn't in it, I was on it," said Kieran with a slight note of panic. "Please don't tell mother."

"I won't, but I won't defend you if she finds out on her own either. I value my skin too much."

This seemed to satisfy him. "If you don't want to talk about it that's okay. I just wondered."

"You wonder about a lot of things, don't you?"

"Mother says I get lost in my own head sometimes." He smiled shyly. "I don't think that's too bad. It's better than being lost anywhere else, it's less lonely."

"I'm going to ignore how weird that was," said Alistair, only half-joking. He picked up his training sword from the paving stones and readied his shield once more. "Personally I prefer to work through issues by hitting unrelated things. Try again, and this time don't cheat by surprising me like that."

***

The restful life couldn't last forever. The Inquisitor had finally ordered that they march on Adamant, and he missed a few days of training with Kieran to help plan the assault. Largely he was left out the outside of discussions, which rankled him. None of them knew as much about the Orlesian wardens as he did yet he was only ever interrogated, never allowed to make any actual suggestions or really take part. Perhaps the Inquisitor and Hawke no longer trusted him since he'd admitted he'd been hearing the Calling too.

He was unnerved but gratified when Leliana invited him to her quarters afterwards. Once he had sat down she ushered the servants away and poured him a cup of tea herself. The tea was from an elegant pot covered in enamel thorns and a single gilded rose. Clearly a personalised gift, given the contents of Leliana's vision all those years ago. From the Divine? Lady Montilyet? No. It would be from damned Cousland, wherever she had gone this time. He took a sip of his tea. It was sweet and brewed to perfection, not a step beyond. He wondered how many scouts had gotten their knuckles rapped or worse for getting that wrong.

For a little while they talked about the forthcoming attack on Adamant, discussing the Wardens' strengths and weaknesses, but then Leliana sighed deeply. "I am sick of talking tactics today. Cullen has been especially trying. So, any gossip?" She steepled her fingers as she said it, grinning wickedly. He liked that, it was a sign the old Leliana was still in there, so he decided to encourage her a little.

"Well, people do keep implying that I'm in love with Morrigan."

She laughed. "Of course you aren't. I would say it is more lust coupled with mutual respect, which is just as good." She winked and he rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. Have you actually seen us together? We can barely go half an hour before we start arguing over practically nothing."

"You are the sort of man who lives to improve yourself, no? But always following, never taking the lead. Some girls, they would see that and they would nurture you like a pretty flower and you would know straight away you were loved."

"A pretty flower? Really?" He made a disgusted face.

She smiled. "See, sometimes you are so soft that just calling you a flower can bruise your ego! But while Morrigan does love pretty things, she likes them to gleam. It used to be that she was too cruel and could break pieces off you instead of polishing you, but she has learned to be civil when it is needed. So she challenges you. Makes you try harder. And deep down you like it."

His heart sank. It was true. He never felt smarter than when he asked a question she couldn't answer, never felt stronger than when he protected her from danger when fighting darkspawn and werewolves and all the other terrifying creatures they'd faced together. And the lust went without saying, really. He had never denied that Morrigan was a beauty, it had always been one of the features that scared him most about her. His tutors during Templar training had preached caution about the serpent hiding within the beautiful blossom, et cetera, but there had always been a part of him that thought evil swamp witches should have at least two visible facial warts. Life was unjust like that.

"So in this metaphor I'm, what? A glass flower?"

She shrugged. "Or one of those rune stones you fuss over so much. Perhaps a gem she has unearthed on her travels. Whatever you like, or more accurately whatever she likes." She giggled again. "Ah, I have missed this. You and Morrigan were always a fun subject to gossip about, even before - " she stopped there, frowning. "But let us not speak of things our mutual friend has worked so hard to keep a secret, no?"

"Hmph." Alistair couldn't help but sulk a little. Still, Leliana was clearly expecting that anyway and he would hate to disappoint. "So what do you think I should do about it?"

"That depends. What do you want to do?"

 _What do I want to do to Morrigan…_ More than a few lustful images sprung to mind immediately. Alistair felt his face flush bright red and glared at Leliana, daring her to laugh. She did anyway.

"Aww, you still blush like a teenage boy. It is so endearing! I want to ruffle your hair!"

"Please don't."

It was her turn to pout. She was clearly having fun toying with him and he was tempted to suggest she go bond with Morrigan herself over that particular hobby. "Have you considered actually talking to Morrigan herself about this?"

"Maker, no. No."

"I think you should. If you don't I may have to intervene."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Only a little." She gestured vaguely. "We are all adults now, Alistair. You have faced an archdemon with the intent to kill, surely you can face Morrigan with the intent to do something much nicer."

"I think I'd rather go face another archdemon," he laughed.

"With our luck you'll be doing that anyway at Adamant, you might as well do both. I hear Qunari liquor is an excellent fear-killer in situations like these."

"Fear, memories, organs… that stuff will kill anything."

"Then we shall stick with tea. I hope you have a good battle plan, for Adamant and Morrigan both."

***

Alistair would be the first to admit that what he knew of courtship would barely fill a thimble, but he was fairly certain gifts were involved. Initially he'd considered plucking some flowers from the Skyhold garden and trying to compare her to them but he instantly realised that was a terrible idea. She'd scoff, say something about them being delicate and dead and what sort of compliment is that anyway, then probably throw them on the floor or at his face. Baked goods were also out of the question, although the idea of presenting her with a tray full of little cakes with hearts on just to see the expression of complete disgust on her face was kind of funny. That left shiny things. She did love shiny things. It was probably because she'd spent too long as a magpie or something like that. But shiny things came with their own myriad troubles and weren't exactly easy to come by in a Chantry-heavy military encampment so he was back to square one again, shuffling his ideas around like playing cards and always drawing a bad hand.

Eventually he plucked up his courage and browsed the meagre wares of the only merchant in Skyhold who seemed likely to have anything Morrigan might want and not already have. She put up with his indecision very well, he thought, and only sighed audibly twice. The ornate Orlesian mask hid any other signs she was ready to scream at him to make up his mind. In the end he picked a bronze brooch shaped like a bird, eyes picked out in little red gems; the silhouette was ambiguous enough that they could pretend it was a crow.

Kieran was in the gardens, asking question after question to some of the visiting horticulturists and clearly driving them nearly to distraction. Good. He'd rather talk to Morrigan alone for this one. Kieran's presence would cause him to have to mentally edit as he went along and if he did that he was sure to stumble into some rhetorical trap Morrigan set for him and fail completely, and he didn't want to raise Kieran's hopes of having a mother and a father together only to have them dashed if she was against the whole idea.

He knocked on the door and waited for her to call for him to enter - while there was part of him that would like to barge in on her changing clothes or something like that it wouldn't do to be impolite today.

"Come in." She sounded distracted. That wasn't unusual, though.

Morrigan was standing in front of a mirror, taller than the two of them put together. Or at least it looked like a mirror, but Morrigan's reflection was not standing in a reversed version of her room as it ought to be, but somewhere else entirely, and its surface rippled like a pond that had recently been disturbed.

"Well, I don't know who bought you THAT but I can't compete. I feel a bit foolish now." He held out his gift awkwardly.

"What is this supposed to be?"

"You first." He looked again at the mirror. Its surface seemed solid and almost normal now but he could swear he saw it twitch and warp at the edge of his vision whenever he focused on anything else, and the reflections were subtly wrong.

"An ancient elven magical artefact that does not concern you," she said smoothly. "Now you."

He tore his gaze away from the eerie reflections. "A present. A courting gift, actually."

She glared at him. "That is a poor joke. You should ask the dwarf with delusions of authorship for advice on comedy."

"For once I'm serious," he muttered. "I've been thinking - and don't say it, now isn't the time - about… well… you. Us. And it's not just because of Kieran, although Maker knows I want to be a proper father to him. I know we've had our differences but you must know I think you're very attractive. I thought that before we even did anything. And doing things just made me want to do other things and now I'm babbling."

"Ugh!" She glared at him. "I knew you were soft in the head but I certainly didn't take you to be so foolish as to throw your heart away in the bedchamber."

"I didn't throw it away, and I didn't give it to you. I still have it. I'm offering it now." He was still babbling but he found he no longer cared. "Has there been anyone else?"

"Of course there has," she scoffed. "Did you think that bereft of your touch I would seal myself away like some cloistered sister? There were a few men in the Orlesian court whose lust briefly outweighed their fear of me. That never lasted long. And they certainly never met Kieran."

He didn't really know what to say to that. _Good_ , maybe? He didn't like the idea that Kieran could call some stranger "father". She was studying his reaction intently, he could tell, piercing eyes seeking out any weakness she could mock.

"And yourself?" she asked finally, having found no chink in the armour. "Surely the tales of Warden heroism have at least proved useful in bedding starry-eyed tavern girls?"

"They're not really my type."

"What, all of them?" she laughed. "You never met a single woman who piqued your interest?"

"I didn't say that. No-one important, anyway. I don't know why I asked." He allowed himself to get a bit peeved, wondering if she'd be drawn to bat at him like a kitten at string like Leliana said. Immediately her smile became wolfish. Why did Leliana always have to be right?

"Well, if you will insist on courting me…" she finally took the brooch and appraised it with the magpie look she always got around gems. "This is an acceptable gift."

"Glad to hear it. Will you let me pin it on you or - "

"With your big, clumsy fingers? Hah. I have no desire to be stabbed." She carefully attached the brooch to her cowl without breaking eye contact with him.

"You didn't complain about my fingers before," he finally dared an innuendo. She pretended to ignore him; he saw her eyebrow twitch but that was it. He drew closer to her, as if she were a wild animal that had accepted his gift of food and thus was less likely to flee back into the forest. Orlais could never tame her, nor Tevinter, nor any power in Thedas. To get close to her without getting your throat torn out was already an honour, he'd always known that, even if he hadn't acted honoured. They'd been little more than petulant children when they first met. And now - 

He kissed her. She kissed back immediately - _good sign, good sign, she won't turn me into a toad today_ \- and wrapped her pale arms around him possessively. He dared to move his own hands to her face and explore her features with kisses. He kissed her behind her ear and she shivered, clearly sensitive, but quickly took revenge and bit at his neck hard enough to make him yelp. He almost pushed her off but she had found a pulse point like some blood-sucking demon and had him utterly at her mercy. As always.

In a few days he would be fighting one of the greatest evils in Thedas along with many of his own Order. But for now, he was content.

***

Commander Cullen had to carry him out of Adamant after their fall through the rift. His skin felt like paper, surely too fragile to hold in his fast-moving blood and his heavy heart. He could still feel the demon's tendrils in his mind, still taste it, along with the dank rotten stench of the raw Fade. Every dark pearl of pain that had built up around the guilt in his soul had been shucked out, ripped from their hiding places and thrown in front of him like trophies by that creature. His inadequacies, his failures, the blood of the Theirins wasted in his veins. Yet still somehow he had hesitated when the abyss beckoned. Instead of the sacrifice he owed the world as a member of his order he had thought of Kieran, of Morrigan. He had hesitated, and his hesitation had cost them Hawke…

He saw many crows on the battlements before he was bundled into the Inquisition's waiting carriage and his pulse sped up, never wishing more for a promise to be broken, but none of them paid him any mind. They were too busy tearing at the dead, and they had a feast of carrion to get through. His last thought before he fell into an exhausted stupor in the lap of the waiting Inquisition nurse was that he hoped they all choked.

***

He gave his debriefing in full armour because their eyes felt like daggers. Especially Varric's. His words caught in his throat over and over again but he managed to tell everyone standing around their stupid map table precisely what had happened, spidery demons and all. He stared at his feet throughout, feeling just as clumsy and stupid as his first day of Templar training.

Morrigan was waiting outside the door. There were tears in her eyes and her cheeks were bloodless. "I thought - " she began breathily, then to his shock she fell against his chest in an embrace.

"I should nearly die more often if it means you'll greet me this nicely."

She looked up at him angrily. "Must you ruin this?"

"You have met me, right?"

She shut him up very effectively by kissing him.

He buried his grief in her kiss, giving his body over to that gratitude that he still lived, he still had reasons to live. Manoeuvring for the nearest door was tricky, so much so that the fact they'd backed into one of the many little shrines scattered around the building mattered even less than it usually would have. She looked up from kissing him long enough to note the location with raised eyebrows, and snuff the candles on the not-quite-altar of a table and in the alcoves with a quick blast of snow. The taste of magic in the air mingled with the ever-present incense and dust of Skyhold.

The statuette of Andraste that took centre place had her in a particularly pious pose, so he knocked it over and hoisted Morrigan up in its place. She sat on the altar cloth looking especially pleased with herself, her fingers making quick work of every lace and buckle of his armour. Each piece fell to the stones with a loud clang, atonal bells calling them to worship.

"I think you should beg me for forgiveness," she whispered. She hiked up her skirts over her waist, kicked off her smallclothes, and stared at him expectantly.

He laughed, but he fell to his knees before her nonetheless.

His attentions travelled up from her knees and all over her thighs to their delta and she shivered slightly every time he kissed her. Her fingers were twisted tightly into his hair at the back of his head, painful but bearable for now. Every now and then she tugged harder to show approval, and if he wasn't so completely bewitched he would have complained that she was being more than a little contrary but every time he tried the words caught in his throat and she pulled harder and all he could do was groan with misplaced pleasure.

"More," she sighed breathily, and pushed his head down, holding him in place.

And he'd thought her kisses tasted good! They were nothing compared to this. He skipped anymore teasing and got straight to it, and although he'd moved his hands to her hips he didn't try and fight her writhing and instead let her dictate her own force (almost suffocatingly hard) and pace (agonisingly slow). His own arousal was almost painful now but he didn't care, it meant he was alive, that was all that mattered. Everything smelled of incense and sex. She came crying out sounds that might have been words once, the skin all across her chest and thighs flushed red. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.

She lay back on the altar, smiling wickedly and making no attempt to repay him whatsoever. He didn't mind all that much, and sat down under her to stroke one long, lanky leg and occasionally tickle her feet as she recovered a little, just to torment her a bit.

"You will be leaving." She said it a little sadly but there was no questioning or pleading.

"Yeah. I have to rebuild the Wardens. Make up for all the mess they've - we've - caused."

"I cannot go with you. Not yet."

"I know." He kissed her foot and she wriggled.

"This altar is not comfortable at all," she muttered after a while.

"Yes, it's almost as if they didn't design it for apostates to have sex on it."

"Hmph. Come, let us retire to my bed and I can repay you in kind."

Alistair didn't need telling twice.

***

Months later, Alistair was on watch duty at the new Warden keep they were building just north of Perendale. It was a bleak bit of land, tending more towards Anderfels terrain than the more cheerful Orlesian, but the mood suited the Order at the moment.

A dark bird circled overhead three times, cawing. He couldn't tell from this distance if it was a crow or a raven, perspective distorting his ideas of size. Once it had completed its routine it flew back off into the mountains, along the track that passed for the only road to the keep.

He wasn't in the least surprised when two figures eventually appeared on the path, one tall and feminine and another small and childlike, clad in dark cloaks. He smiled and waved, and fancied he saw them smile and wave back.


End file.
